Adding One More
by hestiaA1
Summary: AU!Sequel to "Finding a Family" & "Losing a Book". Lots of Harry, Draco, Snape. Angst and hurt/comfort a-plenty! Pls read the other stories first or you will likely be confused. Contains corporal punishment and mention of abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Another sequel to "Finding a Family" and "Losing a Book". Harry is back – as is Draco – and so are the biscuits. Caution: this story contains corporal punishment.**

_Adding One More_

Harry rubbed his backside as he left Snape's quarters. He had _told_ his Quidditch teammates that stealing the Gryffindor banner from the Great Hall and affixing it to the spire of the Astronomy Tower was a foolish way to celebrate their team's win over Ravenclaw, but they had persuaded him that even if the faculty suspected the team's involvement, they'd never be able to _prove_ it. And of course, Harry was not only one of the best fliers on the team, but also the smallest, so he had the best chance of remaining undetected while securing the banner in place.

It _had_ been a tricky bit of flying. The winds had been quite strong the previous night, and Harry had had to stand up on his hovering broomstick in order to tie the banner in place. He'd nearly lost his balance on two heart-stopping occasions, but in the end, he'd managed it, and the entire school had been suitably impressed. With the exception of one decidedly unamused Potions Master.

Most of the students and faculty automatically assumed it had been the Weasley twins who had achieved the feat, but both boys had been serving a detention with Snape when the prank was committed so he knew better. The professor was well aware of Harry's prowess on the broomstick, and it hadn't taken him long to discover the truth. One stern question, and Harry spilled his guts.

It was all well and good for the other students to say that none of the teachers could prove who was responsible; it was another thing to lie to Snape's face – and Harry wasn't stupid enough to do that. As it was, he'd gotten a lengthy lecture on personal safety, had his broomstick privileges revoked _again_, and was told that if he couldn't distinguish between harmless pranks and ridiculous grandstanding that could get him killed, Snape would pull him off the Quidditch team entirely. In retrospect, Harry was pretty sure Snape hadn't _really_ intended to make good on his threat, but in the heat of the moment, he'd lost his temper and told Snape to keep his big nose out of his, Harry's, affairs. And that was why he was presently nursing a sore rear, waiting for the last of the sting to subside.

Considering how rude he had been – the nose comment had merely marked the _start_ of hostilities – Snape had actually been pretty lenient. He seemed to understand that Harry still wasn't accustomed to having an adult looking out for him, and that while he really, really liked having someone care about him, there were times when the unfamiliar restrictions chafed.

The chafing never lasted long, though – not when life at the Dursleys was still so fresh in Harry's mind. Memories of horrid names hurled at him, casual backhanded blows, being starved and ignored… Yes, it didn't take long for Harry to remember what it was like back when no one cared about things like whether he fell off his broomstick; the Dursleys would only have noticed, let alone minded, if he had gotten blood on their nice house. After all, they had had him working at plenty of things that were dangerous – from cooking when he could barely see over the stove to using hedge trimmers that could have taken off his fingers.

He still wasn't accustomed to people getting upset with him when he endangered himself, especially if he had gotten away without injury. So when Snape scolded him and said that the very act of risking himself was unacceptable, it was hard for him to understand why the professor was making such a big deal of it. It was only _after_ his temper got him in trouble that he realized it was because Snape was concerned about him. That adults were _supposed_ to get upset when their kids did something that could have ended badly. That if they didn't get upset, it was because they couldn't care less.

That's when the remorse started, and the worry that maybe Snape wouldn't like him any more. After all, Harry had just insulted him – to his face – and why should the Potions Master be bothered with such a rude and ungrateful ward? Maybe he would go to Dumbledore and insist that Harry's care be transferred to someone else. Maybe he would return him to the Dursleys. Maybe…

Even before the first slap ignited his backside, Harry was halfway to tears. Several smacks later, the glow in his behind was still miles behind the ache in his heart, but Snape was getting worried. It was one thing to swat a boy who yelped and complained, but tonight Harry had moved from defiant to anguished in mere moments. What was going on inside the brat's head?

He pulled the boy upright and frowned at him, trying to decide what to say. Before he could speak, Harry did. " 'M sorry," he hiccupped. "Please don't."

"Don't what? Spank you some more? When have I ever punished you twice for the same thing?" Snape demanded, offended.

Harry shook his head, still too distraught to speak clearly. "N-no. You c'n keep whacking me, but _please_ don't send me back to'm."

"Send you back to who? …The Dursleys?" Snape asked incredulously. At Harry's tearful nod, he huffed in exasperation. "What on earth put such a ridiculous notion in your head, you idiotic child?"

"I w's rude,' Harry muttered, hanging his head. "I said you had a big nose and that –"

"Yes, _thank_ you, Mr Potter. I quite recall the insults from our first go-around. But why would that automatically suggest to you that I would return you to those disgusting Muggles?"

Harry wiped his nose on his sleeve, oblivious to Snape's appalled expression. A handkerchief was pushed into his hand a moment later. "No reason you have to keep me," he pointed out dispiritedly. "If I'm bad enough, you c'n always tell the Headmaster to give me back."

Snape scowled. Those Muggles… Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible thing to drop some Death Eaters an anonymous note with their address. "Sit down, Harry."

Still sniffling – but this time making use of his handkerchief – the boy obeyed. "My assuming responsibility for you was not something I did lightly, Harry," he said firmly, deliberately using the brat's first name. "If I had any intention of relinquishing your care because of some misbehavior on your part, I would simply not have accepted the role in the first place."

"So why _did_ you?" Harry asked. This was the question that had plagued him for these past several months. What on earth had caused the snarky, misanthropic Potions Master to assume the role of his guardian? He had been _awful_ to Harry all through his first year, and in all fairness, he wasn't exactly nice to any of the other students either, Draco Malfoy excepted. What – other than a direct order from Dumbledore – would have induced him to accept such a burdensome role? Even when Harry wasn't being insulting, he still took a lot of Snape's time. The man taught him good study habits, reviewed his homework, supervised his extra lessons, advised him on proper behavior (and the Dursleys' lack thereof), mentored him, engaged him in grown-up conversations, and even endured visits from not only Harry but also his friends. And, of course, took the time to punish him when he did something stupid.

But even Snape's punishments took time and effort on the part of the professor. Uncle Vernon just grabbed him, slapped him around, and stuffed him back in the cupboard, usually managing to squeeze the entire thing in while the telly was on a commercial break. By contrast, Snape first interrogated him about his behavior, then lectured him on its folly, quizzed Harry to be sure he understood why he was being punished, assigned or administered the discipline, then took the time to reassure Harry afterwards and join him for tea and biscuits.

Everything about caring for Harry had to be an annoying, time consuming burden for Snape. So why did he do it? Harry bit his lip anxiously, desperate to know but terrified of the answer.

Snape scowled. He had known that Harry would eventually ask this question, but he still hadn't decided how he wanted to answer it. In truth, he was surprised at how long it had taken the boy to voice the question. He'd expected Potter to demand explanations right up front. The boy's unquestioning acceptance of the situation had been concerning.

"It is …complicated," he finally replied. At the disappointment in Harry's eyes, he defended himself. "I am not trying to deflect the question, but the answer _is_ complex. There are many reasons why I agreed to be your guardian, and I suspect that you will not be able to appreciate all of them for some years – perhaps not until you have children of your own. What I _will_ tell you now is that even before you arrived at Hogwarts, I was prepared to care for you. Had I known the treatment you were receiving at the hands of those _Muggles_, I would have interceded well before now, but I was always assured that you were fine." He held up a finger when Harry would have spoken. "No, Mr Potter. I am answering your question. Do not interrupt. Besides, you should be able to figure out who told me so. Your brain is adequate for that purpose at least.

"Now. As I was saying, one of the reasons I was willing to accept this role is because – " Snape took a deep breath " – your mother and I were close friends for much of our childhoods." Harry nearly fell off his seat. "As a result, it is natural that I am concerned for your welfare."

Harry's eyes were huge. "So you mean it's because of my mum?" Snape nodded. "Then she's _still_ helping take care of me?"

When Snape nodded again, Harry's tears overflowed, and once again, Snape's robe became wet with tears and – other fluids. The Potion Master rolled his eyes. First there was snot on the lower part of his robes from when the brat was being walloped. Now there was snot on the front of his robes from the brat's weeping for his dead mother. And all this splooge now coated what had until moments ago been his favorite robe, one of the very few miraculously free of repulsive potion stains. _Lily_, he thought, _you owe me a new set of robes. At least._

Realizing that Harry was overwhelmed both by his own misbehavior and by the revelation that his mother continued to protect him, Snape did the only thing he could think of that might calm the boy before curfew (and salvage his own robe). He Summoned a house elf.

Sure enough, once the plate of shortbread was placed on a nearby table, its aroma had amazing restorative properties on the child. Harry mopped, snuffled, honked, and blew. Snape recoiled from the proffered handkerchief and banished the offending item directly to the laundry hamper. "Are you sufficiently recovered for tea and biscuits?" he asked, eyeing the boy narrowly and trying to estimate his residual snot factor.

Harry nodded. He was still a bit worried that Snape would hold his rudeness against him. Merlin knew that if he'd ever mouthed off like that to Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia, he would have gotten a lot more than a few measly swats on the butt. More like a kaleidoscope of welts and bruises, not to mention at least a week on crusts and water. They would never have forgiven such a show of temper.

But, over the tea and biscuits, when Harry had (again) apologized, Snape reassured him that such outbursts were normal childhood behavior. "…Just as my response was normal _parental_ behavior," he informed Harry, eyeing him over the lip of his teacup. "This is a time in your life where you will naturally resist authority, and we shall doubtless clash over numerous issues when you feel you are mature enough to make your own decisions and I disagree. However, if you wish to further your argument, you would do well to state your case in a calm and logical manner, rather than resort to insults and name calling. _That_ is unlikely to result in an outcome you desire, as you just discovered."

"No kidding," Harry muttered, squirming as he recalled how he had bawled during the spanking. However, he couldn't help but be delighted by Snape's words. "Parental behavior"? Did that mean that Snape was starting to feel like a parent? That he was starting to think of Harry as a… _son_?

Snape eyed the boy doubtfully. Why on earth should his scolding cause the brat to smile like that?

"Now that we have addressed the issue of your intemperate outburst as well as your foolish and dangerous prank, is there anything else we need to talk about? Your upcoming Potions class, for example?"

"Nope," Harry's quick reply sprayed biscuit crumbs over the couch, and he hastily chewed and swallowed. "Sorry," he said, catching Snape's long-suffering expression. "I've done all the reading _and_ the recommended supplemental material _and_ I asked Hermione to quiz me on it."

"Very well," replied Snape. "Remember our arrangement: if you do a satisfactory job, then we can switch one of our study sessions from Potions to an extra DADA lesson."

"I know!" Harry said eagerly, now fully reassured that Snape wasn't still mad at him. "I really want to get to the point where you can show me how to duel." He shot a sly look at his professor. "If we don't get to start soon, I may have to ambush Malfoy in the corridor to get some practical experience."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "I think you know exactly what kind of _experience_ you'd get should you implement that strategy, Mr Potter."

Harry laughed aloud. Snape was so easy to tease, once you got to know him. "I can guess. I'm just kidding, all right?"

"Your Gryffindorish teasing is both impudent and imprudent when directed at a Slytherin," Snape warned sternly, but Harry just grinned and took another shortbread.

Yeah, Harry mused as he turned towards Gryffindor Tower, Snape wasn't all that bad… other than that hard hand, of course.

Unbeknownst to Harry, a pair of silver gray eyes followed his departure from the dungeons, noting with particular interest his occasional grimace and his habit of rubbing his bum every few steps.

While Snape's expanded relationship with the boy was well known to the faculty, most students assumed Harry's frequent visits to the dungeons were detention-related. Harry's close friends knew better, of course, but Dumbledore felt that the fewer who knew the details of Harry's relationship with Snape, the better for both of them. For that reason, Draco Malfoy was particularly intrigued by his observations. He had known that his godfather had been spending a lot of time with that dunce Potter, but he'd assumed that the Idiot Who Lived was having to take Remedial Potions or something along those lines. After all, considering how hard he and the other Slytherins worked to sabotage the Gryffindor cauldrons – particularly the one belonging to the Golden Git – it was hardly surprising that he would need extra detention time to reach basic levels of competency.

But to see with his own eyes incontrovertible evidence that Snape had finally given Prince Potter the hiding that prat deserved was like getting an early Christmas present. Draco didn't know how his godfather had managed it – the Head of Slytherin walloping the most famous (and most spoiled) Gryffindor? – but it was hard to imagine any other explanation that would lead to Potter's limping away in that particularly distinctive fashion. Draco grinned in anticipation; Potions class tomorrow was going to be the best one ever.

_TBC…_


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was, for once, looking forward to Potions. He _knew_ he was prepared to brew the Pain Relieving Potion, and he was equally certain that, for once, Snape wasn't going to pull anything like a surprise quiz or switch assignments on them at the last minute. He was pretty sure that the professor was as eager to spend more time on DADA as Harry was, and now that Harry's study skills had improved, there was no reason they had to linger on Potions material that Harry could just as easily do during free periods, particularly with Hermione as a study partner.

He hurried to his seat and took out his books, anxious to get started. To his surprise, Draco Malfoy dropped his things on a nearby table. Most of the students had arrived, though Snape had yet to make his usual dramatic appearance.

"So, Potter – did you sleep okay last night?" Draco asked, innocently enough.

Harry frowned, trying to figure out what Draco was getting at. He hadn't been having any nightmares or weird dreams recently, so what was the blond talking about? "Yeah," he answered warily. "Why?"

"Oh, just figured that you might have had trouble getting used to sleeping… on your stomach."

Harry felt his heart lurch. Draco couldn't possibly be hinting at what Snape had done to him last night. How could Draco know anything about it? Surely he _must _be talking about something else…

"I don't know what you mean," he blustered, noticing with dismay that they were beginning to attract attention.

"Oh, I think you do," Draco purred, delighted with Harry's reaction. "Will you be able to _sit_ through class today?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry snarled through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists, helplessly wondering what the Slytherin would say next.

Ron and Hermione were hurrying over, noticing the tense exchange, and that was bringing Goyle and Crabbe from the other side of the room. The other students had dropped any pretense of preparing for class and were watching the confrontation, wide eyed.

"Temper, temper, Potter," Draco chided, relishing Harry's anguished expression. "Is that what got you into trouble? Is that why you got your –"

"Eyes up, mouths shut!" Snape swooped in from the back of the room, and the class instantly abandoned the altercation between Draco and Harry. Intriguing it might be, but with Snape in the room, no one was stupid enough to focus on anything but him.

Once Snape had finished his lecture and instructed them to get on with their brewing, however, the students began to dart covert glances to where Harry and Draco were working. Would the two of them start up again where they had left off?

For his part, Harry gritted his teeth and did his best to focus on the task at hand, blotting Malfoy out of his mind. Whatever Malfoy might know – or guess – he needed to concentrate on the potion. He really, really wanted that extra DADA lesson, but he also wanted to show Snape that he was in fact decent at Potions. It was a field that Snape loved, and Harry thought it would be nice if he could get to like it too. Sort of something they could have in common, like a real father and son might… not that he would ever say something that sappy to Snape.

Malfoy waited, choosing his moment carefully. He waited until the moment when Potter had just put in the comfrey leaves and had to stir the mixture exactly forty-six times. Just when he was at number twenty-three, Malfoy sidled over and whispered, "Do you always howl like that when you're getting your arse whacked, Potter? I thought at first a banshee was loose in the castle."

Harry started so violently that his stirrer went flying, and all hope of turning in an acceptable potion went out the window. Harry clenched his fists so tightly he could feel the nails cutting into his palms. "Shut _up_, Malfoy." He would _not_ let the slimy little snake provoke him, not here in the middle of Snape's class.

Draco smirked at him triumphantly and deliberately raised his voice. "You're awfully _sensitive_ today, Potter. Or is it just _part_ of you that's sore?"

Ron started towards Draco, ready to enter the battle on Harry's behalf, but Harry pulled him back. Doing anything would just make it worse and lose Gryffindor more points. Besides, he _had_ been whacked – Draco's announcing it to the class would be unbelievably embarrassing, but it wasn't an actual lie. Harry couldn't very well defend himself against the truth.

"I might be sore, Malfoy," Harry said in a low voice, "but at least I'm not low enough to share _your _embarrassing moments with the class."

For an instant, Draco hesitated, remembering some of the confidences the two boys had shared during their involuntary confinement in the Infirmary a few weeks back. But the opportunity to humiliate Potter was too good to pass up. And hadn't Potter just said he _wouldn't_ share Draco's secrets? Stupid Gryffindork – he deserved what he got. If he wasn't smart enough to negotiate a truce using Draco's own confidences against him, then that was hardly Draco's fault.

"So, Vince," Draco said loudly, ostensibly speaking to Crabbe on the far side of the room, but never taking his eyes off of Harry's rigid features, "guess what I saw last night? Harry Potter, limping back to his dorm after a sound –"

"Mr Malfoy." Snape's voice sliced through the growing whispers like a razor. The room went absolutely still. Snape _never_ used that tone against a Slytherin in public. The Slytherins in the class were shocked witless, knowing what that tone usually heralded when used back in their tower. The Gryffindors were similarly stunned at hearing the professor speak so harshly to one of his own, and Draco Malfoy at that!

Draco turned white. He abruptly realized he had made an enormous miscalculation, and he turned to face his godfather, terrified of what he might see. His worst fears were confirmed as he saw the professor lifting his desk chair out from behind the table and setting it in front of the class.

"Mr Malfoy. Come here."

The Slytherins looked like wax statues, all with jaws hanging open in shock. The Gryffindors looked blankly from them to the professor and over to Draco. Obviously something was going on, but they couldn't figure out what it was.

Draco swallowed hard, trying not to sick up on the spot. His Housemates were staring at him, wide eyed. They knew what was about to happen, while the idiot Gryffindors were blinking in bovine confusion. "P-p-please, sir," Draco stuttered, all trace of arrogance gone. "I didn't mean it."

"Come here."

Harry and Ron exchanged bewildered glances. What the bloody hell was up with Malfoy?

"No, _please_, Uncle Sev. I was only kidding. It was just a joke. Please!"

Snape's implacable expression didn't change, but he did glance over at Harry. Draco caught the motion of his eyes and turned desperately to Harry. "Please, Potter, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just joking. I swear. I'm really sorry. Please, Potter, please!"

Harry stared at the Slytherin. Draco was practically in tears and he sounded completely panicked. The other Slytherin students were gawping at him and Snape as if they had both grown an extra head, and they were staring at _Harry_ as well. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, but both just shrugged helplessly. Whatever was making Draco beg was as mysterious to them as it was to Harry.

"Mr Potter?" Snape's voice held a question in it. Harry glanced over at him, and the professor quirked an eyebrow but didn't say anything more. Harry thought he could detect a tinge of appeal in the professor's countenance, and he got the distinct impression that every Slytherin in the room was holding their breath.

"_Please_…" It was barely audible, but Harry heard it. At his side, Draco bit his lip and squeezed his hands together hard in an effort to hold onto the shreds of his composure.

Harry might not like Draco much at all. He might despise the Slytherin for his taunting, sneering, arrogant ways. He might be ready to hex him into next week for his willingness to share the details of Harry's punishment with the entire student body. But for all that, he couldn't refuse the boy's desperate pleas.

"Um, okay…" he said, looking at Snape. "It's, erm, all right."

Snape didn't say anything but Harry thought he caught a glint of approval – and maybe gratitude? – in his eye as he turned away. He returned his chair to its proper position and then spun back to the class. "What are you all standing around for? Get to work!"

The students ducked back to their cauldrons, terrified to catch the professor's attention. Draco all but collapsed at his place, while Harry was torn between frustration at his ruined potion and bewilderment at what had just happened. In the end, he Vanished the useless potion from his cauldron and started over. He was pretty sure he wouldn't have enough time to finish it, but he would at least make the effort.

Sure enough, he was only halfway through his second attempt when Snape called time. "Nothing to turn in, Mr Potter? Remain behind."

Harry flinched. Snape's tone hadn't been as scathing as it had been during first year, but it wasn't exactly gentle either. He waited unhappily at his place as everyone else trooped out. He noticed that Snape had intercepted Draco at the door and had a quiet conversation with the boy, at the end of which Draco appeared miserable but not panicked. Snape dismissed the Slytherin and, in the now empty classroom, turned to Harry.

"I'm sorry!" Harry blurted out before the professor could begin his rebuke. "I tried, I really did. It just – I needed more time," he finished helplessly. Even with today's weirdness with Draco, Harry knew better than to try to blame his lack of a finished Potion on the Slytherin. He'd learned last year that complaining about Slytherin sabotage resulted in the loss of Gryffindor points, and he wasn't about to go down that path again. Snape would be angry enough that despite his extensive preparation, Harry had still been unable to complete a simple brewing. He hung his head and waited for the inevitable scornful comments. So much for his plans to impress Snape.

"Harry." The sound of his first name brought his head up with a snap. Snape _never_ used his first name when he was angry. "I'm not upset with you. I'm proud of you."

Harry's eyes widened. Who was this and what had they done with Snape? He tried to recall ways that you could spot the use of Polyjuice Potion.

Snape's lips twitched. The boy's emotions were always writ large upon his face. "Calm down, you foolish child. I'm trying to reassure you. You're not in trouble for being unable to complete your assignment."

"I'm not?" Harry echoed in amazement. "Why not?"

"Because I'm well aware that it was Draco's interference that ruined your first batch."

Harry started to ask why _that_ would suddenly be an acceptable excuse but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"But the reason I'm proud of you –" Harry's gaze snapped back to his " – is because you controlled your temper. You didn't let Draco's teasing provoke you."

A warm, happy sensation started deep in Harry's chest and spread outward until his fingers and toes were tingling with it. "It was really hard," he admitted.

"I'm sure it was. But you did it. And you allowed me to deal with it. I'm proud of you for doing that as well."

Harry squirmed in an agony of delight and embarrassment. He wasn't used to praise, especially not from Snape. Oh, the Potion Master did note when Harry's work was better than usual, but his comments tended to be more acerbic than effusive: "This latest effort is quite reasonable, Potter. Why can't you achieve this standard in all your work?" or "I'm pleased to see that your atrocious spelling is finally beginning to improve." Bald statements like "I'm proud of you" were quite unprecedented – although to be fair, Harry controlling his temper in the face of Draco's provocation was unprecedented as well.

"Um, erm, uh." He stuttered incoherently for a moment, then his floundering brain finally remembered the question he'd been wanting to ask. "What did you do? Why did Draco fall apart like that?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Do you not remember what I told you when you interrogated me about Mr Weasley's experiences at my hand a few weeks ago? I do not permit students to speculate or taunt each other about punishments."

Harry's mouth formed an "O" of surprise. Now that Snape reminded him, he did recall their conversation. Ron had done something – Harry still wasn't sure what – and Snape had smacked him for it, in what should have been a stunning violation of school rules. Oddly enough though, Ron hadn't uttered a single syllable of complaint, and when Harry had demanded to know why, Snape had shut down his interrogation in short order. Harry remembered that Snape had threatened to wallop him in front of the entire Potions class if he badgered Ron to answer his questions, and the threat had been more than enough to make Harry steer clear of the topic entirely.

"You mean, you were going to whack Draco? In front of everybody? Just because he had started to tell them that I had gotten whacked?"

"Yes."

Wow. Harry's happy, warm feeling intensified. Snape had been willing to punish _Draco_, his godson, his favorite student in the whole school, just because he had done something to Harry. Any lingering concerns that Snape might not like him began to fade – this went beyond simple fairness or the execution of an unwelcome duty. Snape was actually taking _care_ of him.

"But though I was fully prepared to punish Draco publicly, I appreciate that your intervention on his behalf meant that I did not have to do so. I imagine that the message was clear enough, without my having to go to that extreme."

"What message?" Harry asked blankly.

Snape looked at him in surprise. "That you are under my protection. That you are to be treated as a member of my House. That anyone who attacks you will be punished as if they have attacked a fellow Slytherin." Harry's eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates. "Malfoy would never have teased Zabini or Nott like that; he should have known better than to go after you. The mere fact that I _would_ discipline you in that fashion should have told him that you are to be considered part of our community."

"The Sorting Hat would be pleased," Harry mumbled, dazed. "It wanted me in Slytherin in the first place."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "Indeed. How very… unexpected."

"Uh, what happens next?"

Snape was eyeing him strangely, but after a moment, he seemed to come back to the present and answered the question. "You will return to the lab at seven tonight – " Harry's face fell. After all that, he was still getting a detention? "– to attempt your potion again. If you can do it properly, I will accept it, both for today's assignment and for our agreement." Harry perked up. No mention of the term "detention" _and_ the opportunity to try the potion again. That was more than he'd expected. "If I am not here when you arrive, you may nevertheless begin. I will be – dealing with – another student in my quarters."

"Draco?" Harry guessed shrewdly. Apparently Snape wasn't letting his godson get away scot-free this time. He might have escaped catching it in public, but it sounded like he would still have to face Snape's displeasure.

"Are you inquiring about another student's punishment?" Snape asked silkily.

"No, sir!" Harry answered hastily.

"Then run along. You are already late for your next class."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" Harry called over his shoulder as he grabbed his bookbag and ran out.

Snape looked after him. Dumbledore would not be pleased by Snape's public acknowledgement of Harry, but really, what else could he have done? How was he supposed to repair the damage that those Muggles had done to the boy's sense of self-worth if he couldn't extend his protection over him?

Whatever the Headmaster's reasons were for keeping Snape's role as Harry's guardian a secret, they were no longer relevant. Maybe he had still nurtured hopes that Snape could resume his role as spy when and if the Dark Lord returned. If that were so, it was all the more important that he had foiled that plan. Voldemort was many things: evil, insane, sadistic, psychotic, cunning… but he wasn't stupid. He had raised paranoia to new levels, and if Dumbledore thought that Snape could get away with taking care of Potter on the one hand while maintaining a fictional loyalty to the Dark Lord on the other, those lemon drops had bypassed his teeth and were rotting his brain. There were too many children of Death Eaters at Hogwarts for his relationship with Harry to remain secret indefinitely, and the unfair treatment of Harry that the role would demand would impair the boy's recovery from the Dursleys' treatment, not to mention his continuing maturation and growth.

Besides, now that he had acknowledged the boy, it meant that the Boy Who Lived had ties to the House of Slytherin as well as Gryffindor. No longer could his House be identified solely by its affiliation with Voldemort nor could Gryffindor claim Harry belonged exclusively to it. That might make it easier for some of his little snakes to avoid recruitment by the Dark Lord, as well as teaching Harry – as well as Ron – to embrace the more Slytherin side of his nature.

Yes, Snape concluded with satisfaction, this should work out very well indeed.

_TBC…_


	3. Chapter 3

After Draco's teasing of Harry in Potions class led to Snape's open acknowledgement of his connection to The Boy Who Lived, Snape noticed that his godson had become withdrawn. Draco had been somewhat subdued ever since the attempt, earlier in the year, to blame him for a brutal assault on Potter. While Snape doubted that his godson had been particularly worried by the attack on Harry, Draco had been undeniably unsettled by the fact that fellow Slytherins had not only schemed to get him expelled but had also used his own wand, without his knowledge, in their plot to implicate him. He had been understandably leery of his own Housemates ever since, and he had stuck unusually close to his godfather. But as the time that Harry spent with Snape increased, and his two best friends began visiting Snape's quarters as well, Draco became more remote.

Snape had expected a certain amount of resentment after he punished Draco for tormenting Harry. Although he had done it in the privacy of his quarters, rather than in the middle of class as he had previously threatened, he knew Draco would still sulk. The boy was a master at the art of sulking and tended to do so whenever his will was thwarted or he was rebuked, deservedly or not. In addition, Snape knew that Draco despised pain in any form, and he had never responded well to it, even if it was nothing more than a simple smack on the rear. Snape had long ago pointed this out to Lucius in the hopes that it would change the way he handled Draco, but Lucius had simply quoted one of the Dark Lord's more incoherent statements about pain being the "purifier of purebloods' strength", and that was that. Any further remonstrance only made Lucius escalate his brutality in order to "beat the cowardice out of the boy". In vain did Snape protest that Draco was no coward – he simply hated physical forms of discipline. It was much more effective to appeal to his vanity, his pride, or his intellect. Lucius, needless to say, felt no need to _appeal_ to anything; he simply ordered, and Draco would obey or else.

Snape sighed. At least Potter took his swats philosophically – so long as he agreed that they were deserved – and even the Weasley boy had accepted his punishment from Snape with astonishingly good grace. Typical Gryffindors: they admited their errors, accepted the assigned penalty, and then moved on. Draco, by contrast, stewed over a punishment long after it was over… or useful to do so.

For that reason, Snape avoided using corporal punishment with Draco whenever possible, even if it gave the appearance of favoritism. Merlin knew that Lucius' treatment of Draco was brutal, and Snape was desperate to give his godson an adult whom he could trust not to abuse him or beat him bloody, regardless of his behavior. Unfortunately, though, there were occasions when he was forced to spank the boy – either to enforce a previously stated consequence or because simple fairness demanded it. This last time, he had put his entire House on notice as to what they could expect if they violated his rule about teasing, and when Draco did so in a spectacularly public fashion, it was all he could do to avoid delivering the promised punishment in the same public forum.

Even in the privacy of Snape's quarters, Draco had been anything but resigned to his fate. He had howled and argued and insisted that it was unfair, even as Snape gritted his teeth and administered the well-deserved swats. It was a very minor punishment compared to what Lucius routinely did to the boy, but to Draco it was still the deliberate infliction of pain by an adult who claimed to care for him. Snape couldn't help but worry. He wanted so much to help Draco avoid joining the Dark Lord, but he wasn't sure he would be able to overcome Lucius' influence, nor reverse the arrogant attitude that Lucius had instilled in his son about how Malfoys were superior to everyone and as such, exempt from the normal rules of society.

Despite the fact that he'd expected Draco to withdraw from him after the punishment, as he had on previous occasions, Snape was still taken aback by how thoroughly Draco was now giving him the cold shoulder. He refused to make eye contact, volunteer answers in class, or seek him out for private conversations. Finally, after two full weeks of this behavior, Snape decided that something had to be done, lest his godson drift away completely.

He was on the lookout for some means by which to reengage the boy, when Draco himself provided the opening. Hagrid caught Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle attempting to "liberate" several baby Grindylows. Hagrid promptly deposited the culprits with Snape who, by subtly interrogating Crabbe and Goyle ("WHAT WERE YOU DUNDERHEADS DOING?"), quickly got the whole story. The boys were planning to introduce the creatures into Moaning Myrtle's toilets in the hopes of colonizing Hogwarts' entire plumbing system. The idea was, of course, Draco's, and Snape quickly dispatched the two lumpish henchmen to a week's detention with Filch. He kept Draco behind, sitting in a chair before Snape's desk and staring at his tightly clasped hands.

"Would you care to explain your little escapade?" Snape asked icily.

"I thought it would be amusing," Draco drawled, in perfect imitation of his father's haughty tones.

"Indeed? I suspect you will not find the consequences of your actions particularly funny," Snape fought to keep his voice level despite his anger at the boy's attitude.

Draco squeezed his hands even tighter, fighting to prevent the terror he felt from seeping into his voice. The Grindylows had seemed like a good idea at the time – who could have expected Hagrid to be so vigilant? – and since Snape didn't seem to care about him any more, then why should Draco hold himself back?

Lucius had never bothered to hide his contempt for Dumbledore and the rest of the school's faculty – Snape excepted, of course, until he betrayed the Dark Lord by joining the "We Love Harry Potter" brigade. As a result, Draco knew his father wouldn't be angered by any pranks he pulled at the school; far from it, he'd probably enjoy a good laugh at the thought of his son putting one over on the staff. In the past, Draco's regard for his godfather, and his desire to please the man, had put a damper on his mischief-making tendencies, but now all restrictions were lifted. If Snape didn't care about him anymore, then Draco had better start ingratiating himself with his father. At least that had been the idea, and it had seemed reasonable enough back in the Slytherin Tower.

However, sitting across from a coldly furious Potions Master, Draco was forced to reevaluate his plan. Even if Snape was now too busy coddling Potter to care about him personally, the man was still Head of Slytherin and loathed any behavior that embarrassed the House. Draco began to regret his decision to out-prank the Weasley twins. There must be other ways to impress his father, as well as to show Snape how little he cared about the man's defection.

First, though, he had to deal with the fall-out of his current plan. He forced his spine to stiffen and did his best to emulate his father's sneer. "Another smacking, I assume, followed by the week's detention with Filch?" Draco hoped that his robes would hide his shaking knees when he got up.

"No, Draco. As you were the ringleader of tonight's excitement, you will receive a more severe punishment. Your confederates' emphasis on brawn over brain makes them ideally suited to labor under Mr Filch's tender mercies. I have other plans for you."

Draco made himself shrug carelessly. "Fine."

Snape's eyes flashed. "For the next two weeks, Mr Malfoy, you will present yourself every evening at my quarters. First you will work on a four foot essay on the proper care and feeding of Grindylows. Once you have completed that, you will turn your attention to a four foot essay on the Hogwarts plumbing system."

"What?" Draco yelped, genuinely outraged. "You expect a Malfoy to write four feet on the _toilets_ in this wreck?"

"Why, now that you mention it, that _does_ seem wrong," Snape said silkily. "Let's make it six feet."

"You can't –" Draco's face was flushed with humiliation and fury. He knew perfectly well that on most, if not all of those nights, Potter and his idiot friends would be lounging around Snape's quarters. Was that why Snape was making him come? To provide them with comic relief? If his traitorous godfather thought that he would sit there laboring away at such a ridiculous assignment while Perfect Potter and his friends sniggered and mocked him…

Snape's patience was at an end. His affection for Draco might be limitless, but his tolerance for childish tantrums was not. "Mr Malfoy, you will do exactly what I say without your usual petulant display of temper, or I will not only give you the spanking you so richly deserve, but I will also notify your father of your hooligan-like behavior."

Draco's heart skipped a beat, and the complaints died on his lips. His father? Snape would actually contact his father? Snape had never before threatened him with Lucius. Quite the contrary, he'd always shielded Draco from his father's wrath.

Draco fought back tears and fiercely reminded himself that he couldn't care less. So what if this was another indication that Snape couldn't be bothered with Draco any more? It wasn't like it mattered to him. So what if Snape had found a new boy to take care of – The Moron Who Was Too Stupid To Die – and Draco was yesterday's news? He didn't like Snape anyway. Who needed some big nosed, greasy haired godfather to look out for him?

Snape was just a disloyal traitor. First he had betrayed the Dark Lord and now he'd betrayed Draco. So at least he was in good company, right? His father would certainly think so, and Draco had better start thinking like his father. It wasn't like he had any other choices now.

Draco forced himself to admire his erstwhile godfather's strategy. Turncoat though he was, Snape was still a Slytherin to the core, and he'd phrased his threat in the most effective way. He knew – as did Draco – that Lucius wouldn't care if his son singlehandedly destroyed the castle's infrastructure, starting with the toilets and ending with Dumbledore's private quarters, but if his son and heir was reported to have behaved in a way that was ill-befitting a pureblood? He'd yank Draco back to Malfoy Manor for a weekend of "discipline" that would leave him raw and twitching for weeks afterwards.

All the fight went out of Draco. "Fine," he mumbled, dropping his gaze back to his hands and slumping in the chair.

Snape eyed his godson in concern. This abrupt surrender was most unlike him. What was going on in the boy's head? He knew all too well that Draco's arrogant attitude concealed an enormous amount of insecurity, hardly a surprise given his father's impossibly high standards, rigid code of eugenics, and brutal disciplinary methods. And Narcissa was no help. With a sister like Bellatrix, it was perhaps understandable why Narcissa had early on retreated into her own dream world. Nowadays, she only emerged long enough to play the devoted wife or mother during unavoidable public appearances. It wasn't that she didn't care for her son, but she had learned long ago that it wasn't worth fighting with Lucius, and she had accordingly left Draco's upbringing entirely to him.

Snape wondered if he had been wrong to threaten the boy with his father. But Draco had been so persistently defiant in the face of all other overtures, threats, and punishments that Snape had felt justified in using Lucius as a way to focus the boy's attention and compel his obedience. Without such a threat, he had been more than half convinced that Draco would simply refuse to attend the detention. That would then escalate the matter and Snape would either find himself in another situation where he had to wallop the boy – thus making a bad situation even worse – or involve the Headmaster, which would inescapably involve Draco's parents and thus bring about exactly what Snape had just threatened. He sighed. He needed to get Draco in amongst the Gryffindors, and if it took threats to make it happen, then that's what he would use.

_TBC…_


	4. Chapter 4

The next night, Draco duly presented himself at his godfather's, supercilious sneer firmly in place. He'd arrived a little early, hoping to settle himself before the Gryffindorks arrived, but they were already there. From the looks of things, Snape had warned them ahead of time, as there were no shocked looks or loud complaints. Potter, after a glance at Snape, muttered a neutral "Malfoy" as a greeting, while The Weasel simply glared at him. The mudblood followed her usual suck-up approach and offered him a polite, "Hi, Draco." He didn't bother to look at her.

"So?" he drawled, using as contemptuous a tone as he thought he could get away with. "Now what?"

"Be seated, and get to work," Snape replied evenly, pointing to a place at the table.

"You expect me to sit next to _her_?" Draco figured if he were as offensive as possible, his godfather might give up, or at least permit him to serve his detention alone, in the Potions classroom.

Potter and Weasley instantly bristled, but Granger – astonishingly – laughed. "Draco, you are so predictable. Why did I know you were going to say that?"

"Because you're an insufferable know-it-all?" he snarled back, furious that she hadn't burst into tears.

"I suppose," she retorted with a maddening smirk. "That must also be why I keep getting better grades than you."

Now the other two boys were laughing with her, at him, and Draco saw red. "A lot of good those grades will do you and your family when the Dark Lord returns and extermin—"

He didn't even have to finish the sentence before all three Gryffindors were on their feet, shouting, but Draco's gratification was short lived. A hard hand clamped onto his shoulder and all but threw him into the chair. He stifled a yelp as his backside crashed down on the hard wooden seat, and then his godfather was there, leaning over and looking him straight in the eye. "You've just earned an extra week of detention, Mr Malfoy, and you will spend tonight copying lines. Do you wish to say anything _else_ before you get started?"

Draco glared back, but he didn't quite have the nerve to try anything else. "No," he muttered sulkily. Snape narrowed his eyes, and he grudgingly added, "Sir."

A parchment appeared in front of him. The sentence, "I will keep a civil tongue in my head at all times, as befits a gentleman," ran along the top of the page, and Draco glowered. At least the Gryffindors were being relatively quiet. The Weasel was still breathing hard and looking like he'd be happy to strangle Draco, but Potter and the mudblood had returned to their schoolwork.

An hour later, Draco's hand was sore and he was seriously regretting his outburst. It hadn't achieved any of his aims, and he would much rather be writing about Grindylows than recopying that stupid sentence another hundred times.

He risked a glance up and was relieved to see that his godfather was over at his own desk, reviewing Potter's Herbology homework with him. From the amount of arguing, it was clear that the work wasn't up to Snape's standards. Draco snorted in derision. What did he expect from that spoiled idiot?

"Hey, Hermione," Ron whispered. "Hand me that book. No, the green one – by that Masheevelly guy."

"It's 'Machiavelli', moron," Draco snapped.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron snapped back. "I don't need your help."

"On the contrary, Weasley," Draco sneered, "you need all the help you can get. You and your pack of penniless blood traitors."

"So we're blood traitors because we don't kowtow to a crazy dead guy? How exactly do you figure that makes you a better pureblood?" Ron demanded.

Draco blinked. A coherent reply? Since when did Weasley respond to baiting comments about his family with anything other than a mindless outburst of violence? That famous Weasley temper was supposed to have short circuited all his logic several seconds ago.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he blustered, well aware that his rejoinder was pathetic. Unfortunately, since he secretly agreed with Weasley that Voldemort _was_ a crazy dead guy, it was hard to argue the point.

"I'm surprised that you know who Machiavelli is, Draco," the mudblood put in unexpectedly. "I didn't think you'd be familiar with Muggle authors."

He turned to glare at her. Why wasn't she still smarting from his insults? How dare she recover so quickly and actually try to engage him in conversation. "No one was talking to you, Granger," he attacked.

"Well, I'm talking to you," she replied. "What other Muggles have you read?"

"None of your business."

"Bet your father would be interested to learn about your reading habits," Weasley commented quietly, and Draco felt himself pale.

_He wouldn't_, he told himself quickly, but he knew it wasn't as far fetched as it might appear. Weasley's father worked in the Ministry. Lucius often went to the Ministry, thanks to his extensive involvement in multiple projects. If Weasley asked his father to say something… "What do you want?" he hissed, practically spitting out the words.

The mudblood looked bewildered, but Weasley smirked, as if a plan of his had just worked out. "I'm sure you can guess." At Draco's angry, frustrated expression, Weasley rolled his eyes impatiently. "We're stuck with you for the next two – no, three – weeks, Malfoy. I want you to be polite during that time. No sneers, no insults, and no use of the term 'mudblood'. Think you can do that, or should I owl my father?"

"No!" Draco couldn't prevent the exclamation. If Lucius found out… Draco broke out in a cold sweat. "All right," he muttered. "Fine."

Weasley grinned in triumph and Draco felt nauseous. He'd just been bested by a Weasley! He'd never live that down if anyone in his House found out.

"So, Draco," the mudblood was amazingly persistent. "Who else have you read?"

Draco glanced over at Weasley, and the boy raised his eyebrows inquisitively. "Be polite, Malfoy. Answer Hermione's question."

Draco fumed impotently, but in the end he replied between clenched teeth, "Machiavelli and Benjamin Franklin. Sun Tzu. Churchill. Dickens. Tolkein. Payne. Homer. Shakespeare. Swift. Twain."

"Have you read any Jane Austen? I love her!" Hermione said.

"I'm not a _girl_, Granger," Draco snapped. "No, I haven't read her stuff."

"What did you think of Sun Tzu?" Weasley demanded. "Don't you think he might have been a wizard?"

"Ron!" Hermione sounded exasperated. "We've been over this a hundred times. He was _not_ a wizard. Professor Snape said so!"

"He lived more than 2000 years ago, Hermione. Don't you think the records might have gotten lost?"

"Honestly, Ron! You're like a dog with a bone. Give it up!" Hermione looked over at Draco. "What do you think? I suppose you agree with Ron that anyone with half a brain must have Wizard blood?"

Draco was torn. He didn't want to agree with either one of them, but neither did he want to look ignorant and not weigh in with his opinion. He hesitated a moment, trying to decide which path would be the least aggravating.

"I bet you didn't even read it!" Ron challenged. "You just said you did to look smart."

"Some of us let our grades demonstrate that," Draco shot back. "And the mud – I mean, Granger's right. There's absolutely no evidence that Sun Tzu was a Wizard. Some people don't even think he was a real historical figure."

"Oh yeah? Then who wrote the book?" Ron demanded hotly.

Hermione and Draco both tried to answer him, and the debate was on.

Snape and Harry, distracted from their own argument by the loud voices from the table, looked up and were surprised to find the other three in a vigorous but surprisingly civil discussion. Snape in particular was amazed to hear his godson defending a point Granger had just made, while Weasley somehow managed to hold his own against the two of them. Harry tugged on his sleeve. "Did you hex Draco?" he whispered anxiously. "'Cause I don't think that's a good idea. I mean, he won't like it when he wakes up and realizes how you made him act."

Snape's lips twitched. "I assure you, Mr Potter, I did not hex him. Though I agree that this transformation appears magical."

Of course, nothing is ever that simple, and before the end of the night, Draco had managed to outrage all three Gryffindors by claiming that Godric Gryffindor was nowhere near as powerful a wizard as Salazar Slytherin. Although the other students were somewhat reticent in their arguments, not wishing to offend Snape, they still made it clear that they considered Draco's words a declaration of war. Snape barely managed to avoid open hostilities by a timely delivery of tea and biscuits.

As the students made their way back to their respective dorms, Snape called his godson back. "I see you made surprisingly little progress on your lines this evening," he observed, holding out the parchment.

Draco eyed him warily. How much trouble was he in? "I was distracted by Weasley and the mudbl – I mean, Granger," he protested. "It was your idea for me to come here in the first place. It isn't my fault that they bothered me."

"I see. Well, as your subsequent behavior embodied the spirit of the lines, I will excuse you this time," Snape told him. "If you believe you can continue to conduct yourself appropriately, you may begin the Grindylow essay tomorrow night."

Draco looked at his godfather in surprise. He had expected Snape to order him to write lines during his free period tomorrow to make up for his dismal showing tonight. Instead he was being let off entirely? That was unexpected. "I – all right." He fidgeted under Snape's scrutiny. What did the man want from him?

"Sit down," Snape said abruptly, apparently coming to a decision. Draco reluctantly complied. What now? "I wish to talk to you about your use of the term 'mudblood'." Draco tensed. He knew his godfather didn't like the word, but his father beat him bloody if he forgot and used a more polite phrase. Besides, he no longer had to care what Snape liked or disliked.

"I do not want to hear that term again in my chambers," Snape instructed sternly.

Draco shrugged. "Fine." He didn't mention that Weasley's blackmail had already forced him to abandon its use.

"It is foolish to alienate people in a haphazard manner. You should choose your words so as to keep as many options available to yourself as possible. By using terms such as mudblood, you give away a great deal about yourself while learning nothing about your audience," Snape lectured.

"I already said I wouldn't," Draco argued, doing his best to sound bored. "Can I go?"

"Yes," Snape replied, with a barely audible sigh. Draco gave him an odd look as he rose. The man had almost sounded… hurt. Unwillingly, he lingered at the doorway.

"I don't think it's fair that you make me come here and do my punishment essay in front of those Gryffindors," he burst out, surprising himself.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think they're not here for punishment as well?"

Draco snorted. "Like you'd ever punish Perfect Potter and his pets."

"Just what is that supposed to mean, young man?" Snape demanded.

Angry with himself for revealing more than he had intended, Draco shrugged and turned to go, but Snape caught him by the back of the robes and dragged him back. "No, you _will_ answer my question, Mr Malfoy. And not with a sullen jerk of your shoulders, either."

"Fine!" Draco exploded. "It means that you're _pathetic_! You're so busy kissing up to Potter and Dumbledore and the _mudblood_ and all of them, you don't care what happens to the rest of us! You're a dirty rotten traitor! I hope the Dark Lord crucio's you to death when He comes back! I hate you! I don't care that you left me! I don't care that you like Potter now instead of me! I hate you! I hope you die! I –" Draco saw Snape's hand fly up, and he yelped and cowered back.

To his astonishment, instead of cracking sharply across his face, the hand caught him by the back of the neck, pulling him against his godfather's chest as Snape's other hand came around his shoulders.

"Ssh. It's all right," Snape soothed, holding his godson tight.

Draco found himself crying great heaving sobs against Snape's chest. His hands came up and grabbed onto his godfather as if he was a lifeline in a churning sea. "I hate you, I hate you," he wept. "You left me."

"Oh, Draco," Snape sighed. "I would never leave you. Never." As he held the weeping child, he mentally groaned. More snot. Merlin, he hated teaching. If there was one thing children had an abundance of, it was disgusting body fluids.

"You _did_," Draco protested tearfully. "You like Potter now."

"Draco, I can like _both_ of you. And whatever my relationship with Potter, _you _will always be my godson. I've known you all your life. We will _always_ have a different relationship than Potter and I have. I have seen you grow from babyhood. I don't have those kinds of memories of Potter." Snape couldn't quite believe that he was having this conversation. Was his godson twelve or two? But there was no denying his outburst nor the insecurities and fears it had revealed.

"You hit me," Draco accused. "You picked Potter over me."

"You broke one of my most important rules," Snape replied patiently. "You know perfectly well you are not to tease other students about my punishments."

"But it was just _Potter_!" Draco wailed. "I thought you _hated_ him!"

Snape abruptly held his godson out at arm's length. "Is _that_ why you teased him? Because you thought I would like it? That I would want you to?"

Draco nodded, tears streaming down his face. "And you _hit_ me," he sobbed. "I did it to please you, and you _hit_ me."

Snape sighed, pulling the boy back into a hug. Poor Draco, yet another casualty of Dumbledore's damned "no one must know" policy. "All right, Draco, all right," he soothed. "I understand now. I understand."

"It wasn't fair," Draco whined. "You changed the rules."

"I suppose that's true," Snape admitted. "And I'm sorry."

Draco's sobs stopped abruptly. "_What?_" Shocked, he craned his neck back to see his godfather's face.

"I'm sorry," Snape repeated, amused to see that an apology worked as well with Draco as with Harry. "You're right. I should have explained to you that things have changed between Potter and myself. I should have made you aware of the situation."

Draco sniffled, contemplating his words. "Was it a secret?" he finally hiccupped. "You know, because of the Dark Lord?"

"Yes."

"Did you not tell me because of my father?"

"In part," Snape allowed. "The less you know, the safer you will be. If Lucius thinks you are withholding information from him, he will undoubtedly try Legilimency. I would spare you that if I could." There was no reason to tell the boy that he still worried that Draco would join Lucius among the ranks of Death Eaters. If only he could make the boy could see the Dark Lord and his philosophy for what they truly were, and not simply accept Lucius' slanted, distorted view.

"Then you're not going to –"

"Abandon you? Certainly not."

"Oh." Draco dug out his handkerchief. Snape noted proudly that his godson not only had one, but it was freshly laundered, unlike those idiot Gryffindors who always had to use one of his.

"You're not going to tell anyone about this, right?" Draco demanded nervously, wiping his eyes.

"It depends," Snape replied, ever the Slytherin. "Is this nonsensical misbehavior going to stop?"

Draco nodded, looking as sheepish as a Malfoy could. "Yes, sir."

"Then we will keep tonight's events between ourselves."

"Uncle Sev," Draco asked hopefully, "does this mean that I'm excused from the rest of my detentions?"

"Mr Malfoy, do you seriously expect an answer to that question?"

"But, Uncle Sevvvv," Draco whined, turning his best "sad puppy dog eyes" onto his godfather, "don't you think I've been punished enough?"

Snape raised one eyebrow. "I think you have me confused with a house elf if you imagine that such tactics will work on me. It is getting late. You can either return to your dormitory now and I will see you again tomorrow evening as scheduled, or you can continue your ill-advised attempts to wheedle your way out of a well-earned punishment, and you will likely end up with more detention or a sore backside or both. Which will it be?"

Draco abandoned his efforts with a grumpy mutter that Snape, in the interests of furthering their nascent truce, pretended not to hear. "All right, fine," Draco groused as he made his way to the door, "but I'd better not have to share any more of Weasley's biscuits. I want my _own_ plate from now on," he instructed, regaining his usual hauteur.

"I know, I know," Snape sighed. "Oatmeal raisin. I'll tell the elves."

_FINIS_


End file.
